


An Illusionary Affair

by Zhie



Series: Bunniverse [37]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bunniverse, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:18:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6939310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zhie/pseuds/Zhie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck at a terrible party, Fingon and Turgon attempt to make the best of it for their sister's sake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Illusionary Affair

“Do you think there is any way we might be able to leave early?” The question was posed by Turgon, who was sitting on the landing, staring into his glass. His brother was leaning over the railing, watched past the haze of the lace curtain covering the double paned glass doors that separated them from the next room.

“I feel as if someone will come looking for us the moment we try to go,” admitted Fingon. He lifted up his glass, but not to drink. “Look at all of them,” he said, waving his mostly empty goblet at those beyond the barrier that kept them from the room. “All of those people actually want to marry our sister.”

“Sure they do.” Turgon stretched and looked around, as if there was some chance that someone had suddenly come upon them from some other place. “Sure they do, Kano.”

“Hmmph.” Fingon lowered the glass down, his arms limp again as he kept himself propped up by the railing. “Do you even know who any of them are?”

“Uh… Well, no, not really. Unless Celegorm is there, but I never saw him arrive tonight.” Turgon sipped from his glass. “I know that he was invited. Aredhel insisted that he be invited.”

“He was invited. I delivered the invitation myself,” confirmed Fingon. “He promptly tossed it aside and said he was above such simple attempts to… something. I may have stopped listening to him after a moment. Suffice to say, he is not here, and he is not coming. He has no intention of being at this party.”

“In that case, no, I do not know anyone who is here. Except you.”

“And our sister.”

“And our sister.” Turgon sighed as loudly as he dared, for their mother was standing just on the other side of the glass pane. “I imagine if she could hear us,” he said of the matron of the house, “she would have come and told us to shush by now.”

“Most definitely,” agreed Fingon. The music was not overly loud, but it was loud enough to cover up any sort of conversation being had in the hallway, and the doors were tight and kept the draft from the room, so they kept the noise, too. “Why do we not get balls?”

“Because we should be going to balls.” Turgon gave Fingon an accusing glance. “I have at least made it to a few.”

“I want a ball,” pouted Fingon. “I want a massive party with fireworks all evening and white peacocks and a great glass chandelier with strings of jewels hanging from it.”

“And just where do you think they shall hang a chandelier here in the house?” wondered Turgon.

“I have no intention of the ball being here, Turgon.” Fingon lifted the glass again to motion to the party. “I am going to find a huge hall somewhere and hang lanterns all over the ceiling and bring in several large chandeliers if they do not already have them.”

“Your chandelier count keeps increasing,” remarked Turgon.

“There shall be food brought from so many different places. The best seafood from Alqualonde--”

“I do love crab legs,” admitted Turgon.

“Not just crab, but lobster and oysters and catfish.”

“Catfish? I think catfish rather tastes like mud and rocks,” Turgon declared.

“If you cook it correctly, it can be quite delicious. You just need some lemon, cream, pepper, a little butter, some bread crumbs--”

“Do you think they have any food left?” asked Turgon, suddenly eyeing the doorway again.

“I suppose they might.” Fingon reached down so that he could set the glass on the edge of the stair that protruded from the stairway. “I expect there shall be cake and fruit at the very least. Though, I saw the cake. It looked quite bland.”

“Well, you know Aredhel,” said Turgon. “She likes everything a certain way.”

“If by that you mean that she likes everything to be white, then yes, she indeed does like things a certain way.” Fingon joined Turgon, who was now standing up, and together they approached the doors. “Head up, shoulders back,” he whispered, repeating words that their mother had said to them earlier that day.

“No fidgeting, and hands out of your pockets,” added Turgon. He looked at Fingon and grinned, and together they said:

“And no swearing!”

Each of them took the handle of one of the doors and opened it. A few of the suitors glanced to see what was going on, but immediately turned their attention back to the belle of the ball, who was seemingly enjoying the attention she was getting by simply sitting on the settee in her white gown and jewels. Her brothers tilted their heads slightly in her direction, and then made for the tables at the end of the room where signs of the spread could still be seen.

“Why am I not surprised?” asked Turgon when they approached.

“I had no idea there were so many white foods,” added Fingon. He picked up a stuffed quail egg and scrutinized it. “I wonder if they even seasoned it.”

“White pepper,” whispered a servant who passed by with a tray of drinks. The maid, like all other maids currently in the house, were only employed on the occasions, and lived on a stipend away from the house when parties and things were not going on. Their mother was quite adamant that she could manage the household on her own. Only the butler and their father’s secretary spent regular time in the house.

Turgon picked up an egg as well. “A toast,” he proposed. “To our sister’s happiness - and her ability to choose a suitor soon,” he said as he raised his egg.

“Here, here,” answered Fingon.

“Because I want my own room,” Turgon declared as he tapped his egg against the one Fingon held.

“Likewise.” Fingon lifted the egg to his lips, but upon looking past Turgon, lowered it again. “Look - out the window - by the garden.”

Turgon turned around. “What are - oh! Huan,” he realized, and he looked back to Fingon. “That must mean Celegorm is here… but where?” Turgon looked around the room.

“Outside, I will wager.” Fingon picked up a napkin and unfolded it on an open part of the table. He selected a number of items that would travel well, such as slices of cheese and meringue cookies, and bundled them up by pulling the four corners together. “Come on.”

Turgon gave a longing look at the appetizers and desserts on the table. “Must we?” he asked as he perused the unopened bottles of wine.

“Bring the chablis,” suggested Fingon. He led the way out, and they encountered Celegorm in the shadows of the garden. “Brought you some food,” he called out by way of greeting.

“Not interested,” growled Celegorm from under his hood.

“Of course not,” replied Fingon. He leaned against the fence post and looked up as he let the napkin fall open. “Good thing I only brought it for myself.”

Celegorm snorted, but reached down to take a piece of cheese in the most bored manner possible. “I hate eccatyur,” he grumbled.

“Not eccatyur. White cheddar.” Fingon popped a cookie into his mouth. “She asked if you were coming,” he offered.

Celegorm shifted, and while Fingon could not confirm, he suspected he was being glared at. “Why do you care?”

“To be perfectly honest,” answered Fingon, “I would rather my sister end up with the asshole I know instead of some asshole I do not.”

“I would rather my brother not end up with any assholes at all,” sneered Celegorm.

Turgon popped the cork off of the bottle. “You realize both of you are going to end up the other’s brother-in-law one way or another, right?” He waved the bottle under his nose before he took a sip and tasted the wine. “Just a thought. You both have a lot of similar interests. Maybe try not to both be assholes?” he suggested.

“Maybe mind your own fucking business?” countered Celegorm.

“I like his dog.” Fingon whistled to Huan and held out a piece of cheese.

“He is not going to take anything from you. He only takes food from those he trusts,” Celegorm warned as Huan sauntered over and sniffed at Fingon’s hand. “Watch it - he might take your hand off,” he added as Huan opened his mouth.

Fingon extended his palm. “I have a very trusting face,” he answered when Huan carefully took the cheese from his hand.

“I hate you,” grumbled Celegorm as Fingon proceeded to feed more cheese to Huan. 

“Save some for me!” 

Fingon turned around to see his sister, wearing a dark cloak and hunting clothes to match, approaching from the woods. “How are you out here?” he questioned as she plucked a morsel from his bounty.

“How did you change so quickly?” added Turgon.

“The simple answer is that I was never at the party to begin with,” admitted Aredhel as she continued to eat the food Fingon had with him. “Oh, these little pastry puffs are delicious! Save some for me, please, Turgon.”

“Who is in there, then?” demanded Turgon.

“My double! A girl I met at the market. What do you think? A little on the tall side, but I told her to blame the shoes, and not to accept a single proposal from any of them. What a dear she is! She told me she can make herself available at least once a month - and if she fooled the two of you, I assume she can fool nearly anyone.” Aredhel finished the last of the treats and Celegorm cleared his throat. “Well then, no spoiling it for me, dear brothers. I would do the same for you, you know.”

Fingon crossed his arms over his chest. “And just where are you off to, young lady?”

“None of your business,” whispered Celegorm as he passed by Fingon, unheard by Aredhel.

Aredhel laughed and mounted Celegorm’s horse just after he did. “Away from this nonsense, for certain! See you tomorrow,” she promised, and then she and Celegorm rode off.

Fingon and Turgon exchanged looks while Huan bounded off after his master. “Something is off about this family,” declared Turgon. 

“You think?” Fingon folded the empty napkin and began to walk back to the house.

“I think Illuvatar got confused with you and Aredhel. She should have been the boy, and you should have been the girl.”

“Not sure if that is a compliment or not,” called out Fingon.

Turgon, still rooted in place, pointed in the direction of the woods. “Are you going back to the house?” he shouted.

Fingon turned on his heel. “That was my intent.”

“And just let them go like that?” he shouted.

Fingon rolled his eyes and came back to where Turgon was standing. “What would you propose we do?”

“Send someone after her, of course.”

“You could go after them,” Fingon suggested.

“Me? No. Hardly appropriate. We should round up a few of the knaves in the house and make them go,” said Turgon. “What if something happens?”

“As much as I differ in opinion with Celegorm, she is perfectly safe with him.”

“But--”

“Turgon, do you realize, there is going to be a lovely lady in our house tonight - unchaperoned, and unrelated - sleeping in our sister’s room.”

“Fingon! I would never entertain such thoughts!” Turgon pointed his chin. “How can you suggest such--”

“You? No. But did you notice who else is here tonight?”

Turgon seemed to be running through his mental catalogue of the suitors who had shown up, trying to recall if he did indeed know any of them. “Ecthelion,” he suddenly realized.

“Mmhmm. You know how he gets. Might just try to climb the trellis to visit her tonight.”

“We must remain vigilant,” Turgon decried as he marched back to the house. “Aredhel can take care of herself.”

“A wise decision.” Fingon let his brother have a head start before he followed after him. “You owe me one, Celegorm,” he muttered under his breath.


End file.
